I kept waiting for it all day. For the ask, the actual offer, dwelling on how I would say no. They knew the answer already. We’d covered that base this morning.
And it came, after the final show, after all the goodbyes to fair regulars and fans and other performers. We were settling up, splitting tips and pay—I’d almost forgotten I was getting paid for this. Paid to play fiddle on stage with a talented, enthusiastic band for a loud, enthusiastic audience, paid to have the most fun I’d had in years.
“You know,” Hitomi said, holding out a check to me, “we don’t have anyone else lined up to play fiddle going forward.”
Doug and Peter, roughhousing nearby, got quiet. I looked at the check, then back up at her. Obviously I’d fallen for Peter like a stupid teen, but I even liked both Hitomi an
